


A Lesson on Humility

by obfuscatress



Series: Lessons [3]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: BDSM, Beating, Gen, Umbrella, bodily force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4267896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obfuscatress/pseuds/obfuscatress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s one thing to learn humility and another matter entirely to be beaten to a pulp with an umbrella.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lesson on Humility

**Author's Note:**

> Age difference is based on that between Colin Firth and Mark Strong, thus setting this piece in the context of 1986. Merlin’s appearance is based on that of a younger Strong as well, which is why he has hair in this fic.

It isn’t as though being uncomfortable isn’t the underlying sensation in every action he executes on Kingsman’s behalf, but this was bordering on something new entirely. Humiliation, perhaps, Merlin muses and tests his wrists against their ziplock restraints. At the young but certainly respectable age of twenty-two, a man ought not to be shy about one’s body and it applied even more to the knights of the round table. And he might’ve been more comfortable entirely naked, because it has a tendency to remove all inhibitions, but standing there in his pants and virtually blind carries a sense of foreboding.

The tension only increases with the effortless swing of a slightly creaky door sounding in the room, announcing the presence of someone who isn’t one bit hesitant to take him apart, simply because it’s their day job. To Merlin’s surprise, he’s addressed by Harry Hart. “Peculiar how they let one keep their pants these days. False political correctness in our line of work, wouldn’t you say?”

“That depends entirely on what one is here for,” Merlin says carefully and keeps his hands from instinctively tugging against the ziplock. “Besides, doesn’t that make the blindfold just as irrelevant to the situation?”

“Tradition. And in your case it is not even misplaced,” Harry remarks, “You don’t know this of course, but you’re here to learn a lesson. Every Kingsman has a vice, and you, well, you are cocky.”

“Pardon?”

Harry ignores him and continues, “You’ve got reason to be, that much is clear, but this is teamwork and a dose of humility in the face of humanity would do no harm.”

“So what’s this then? A shaming?” Merlin asks, angling his head to face Harry Hart, even if he can’t see the man. If this were Arthur or one of the older agents he might feel a natural sense of respect, but Harry Hart is only three years his senior and carries an air of nonchalance with him wherever he goes.

Harry Hart simply says, “No.” He doesn’t elaborate, but steps further into the room, past Merlin and folds his glasses away.

He can tell, because he’s heard the clink of other agents removing their spectacles and setting them aside. He’s drawn particular attention to it, because he is the only one of the lot, who actually needs his glasses to see properly. “Weakness of the body that can be compensated with strength of the mind,” his father had said once and the notion of it still made Merlin bitter. He thinks of how the blindfold is truly useless, because even without it, all he’d have is a blurry version of Harry Hart calling him conceited.

“What happens here today will have no effect on your position, unless you’ll make the foolish mistake of holding a grudge against me. This is merely another mission I’ve been assigned, so don’t flatter yourself with the idea of us all having stood up in some sort of riot against your perceived superiority,” Harry Hart says as he picks something off the floor and his voice resonates differently in the room for a moment. “And now, silence, until I address you.”

Merlin rolls his eyes under the blindfold at the dramatics, because he’s not stupid enough to piss off Harry Hart, current Galahad with a six year experience and few injuries to account for it. The same can’t be said about his opponents. Harry surprises him yet again by saying ‘on your knees’ in an uncharacteristically authoritative tone that has Merlin comply without a second thought.

Harry comes to stand in front of him and momentarily there is a deafening silence occupying the space between them. Then Harry lifts something cold against his chest and Merlin wants to smack it away, because he’s absolutely certain it’s the tip of a fucking umbrella, and he isn’t even allowed to make a remark about it. Harry Hart lets out a long breath like he’s calibrating himself for a terrible act of violence.

Instead of that there’s the sting of slowly increasing force applied to his chest and Merlin bends backwards under it, until  he’s almost touching the ground. Harry moves the heating metal to his throat, resting the weight of it on his adam’s apple, and Merlin tries hard not to swallow. It travels a little further to touch him beneath his chin and he tilts his head back with his back straining. He does swallow eventually and Harry lifts the umbrella from him like it’s a sword. The umbrella is replaced with a shoe on his chest, pressing down with an evenness that comes from perfect balance. Merlin takes shallow breaths in the shrinking space his lungs have left to expand.

“They put a ziplock on you, didn’t they?” Harry asks as he takes his foot off Merlin’s chest and coaxes him to rise back onto his feet without expecting an answer. Merlin gets up and Harry snaps the plastic off his wrists with a knife. The pain goes from a dull ache to a burn in an instant and Merlin can only imagine the red marks left behind by the cutting edges of his restraints.

Harry says, “It’s so unsophisticated, but you can’t trust these people to do the tying properly.” There’s the rough surface of a thin rope against Merlin’s wrist and Harry Hart wrapping it around his hands. His fingers brush against Merlin’s skin, already calloused from their frequent use of guns and other weapons as well as plain physical force. He pulls the rope snug in four loops and ties it in a knot Merlin doesn’t even want to think of undoing. Merlin still wriggles his hands for a feel and the rope scratches at his already raw skin.

“Wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Harry mutters and Merlin wonders whether he’s allowed to respond to that. He doesn’t have the time to make a decision before he’s backhanded across his right cheek with a gloved hand.

Merlin gasps and breathes heavily with his face throbbing. Harry rests three fingers against his cheek and hums as though he’s observed something curious. Merlin recovers from the shock of the sudden hit only to be backhanded from the left and yelp, which only serves to earn him a knee in the shoulder.

Shit, he thinks as he keeps his aching shoulder still and heaves into his chest with his head bowed. Harry uses the opportunity to hit him with a proper blow to his stomach, closed fist and all, and Merlin doubles over in pain. The worst part is he knows it isn’t even a hit delivered with all of Harry’s untamed force, he’d gotten only half of it and already that was dizzying.

Merlin breathes into the curved space beneath his ribcage and thinks it’s all just black with that stupid blindfold on. He waits patiently for the next blow, counting all the way to seven. Harry beats him with the blasted umbrella and it will bruise in the strangest patterns, Merlin knows. He stands up straight to make Harry stop assaulting him with an umbrella, because that’s humiliation taken to a new level and he won’t put up with it.

“Hmm, you’ve got a backbone after all,” Harry says with the umbrella held out to swing him into an oblivion of pain.

“Oh for Christ’s sake-,” Merlin says before he can think better of it, and the punishment is immediate with a precise strike against the side of knee. His leg twitches under the impact with a desire to fold away, but Merlin stands firm and bites into his cheek. He’s rewarded with the taste of blood in his mouth for his efforts and he gives Harry a lopsided crimson grin.

In typical Kingsman fashion, Harry Hart doesn’t budge an inch and kicks him in the leg hard enough to force it out of balance and with it Merlin. He goes down with an ungracious limp, but catches himself on his knees, which scrape open in a short burn of friction, and Merlin briefly wonders whether HR knows about this practise. Half in anticipation, Merlin waits for a snarky comment that doesn’t come. He gets another blow from the umbrella instead.

When it doesn’t have the desired effect Harry grabs him by the hair and tugs his head back against his own leg. Under the blindfold Merlin’s eyes water at the pull. He lets out shallow little breaths, puffing against the back of his teeth, and imagines Harry staring down at him. A stray bit of blood drools onto his lower lip and slips down his chin. His head goes flying and Merlin’s busy trying to understand what happens when his head hits the floor.

He’s overcome by a sensation of vertigo, emphasized by a kick aimed at hit back. Merlin feels the adrenaline rush, the tears escaping his eyes, and yet no sound comes out of his mouth. Harry Hart has just slammed his head into the ground and Merlin thinks this is serious business. His head hits the floor again, not hard enough to do real damage or have him pass out, but it still shoots lightning bolts of pain across his skull.

Harry shoves him away carelessly, and Merlin rolls onto his side, trying to stop his head from spinning around in the dark. He regrets not having the preservational instinct to curl up in a ball even with his hands tied, because Harry Hart kicks him gleefully in the side, or so Merlin thinks. It knocks the wind out of him and he coughs. Harry gets in another kick before he does actually manage to drag his knees to his chest and the third lands in his shin.

It hurts no less, but Merlin knows it’s far less damaging and he feels a sense of relief at this. With a break in the violence he can hear Harry’s heavy breathing. Merlin listens to it even out slowly and the man crouches down behind him to undo the blindfold. The light is another sensory overload and as such punishment in itself. He blinks blearily at the floor and spares Harry Hart a brief glance.

“You’ll have to undo the wrists yourself,” he says and gets up to leave. Now that’s just another act of cruelty, Merlin thinks and is tempted to shout profanities after Harry, but focuses on breathing until the door to the room falls shut and he’s left alone.

He wiggles around and sits up into an upright position still coughing from the blows to his ribs. He wonders if one of them might be broken and stares down at his own chest to see a trail of blood, realising in that moment that he’s having a heavy nosebleed. Merlin sniffles, bleeds onto his boxers, and tries to make out the knot on the ropes around his wrist. Get on with life as a Kingsman.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to follow what I'm up to in terms of writing or otherwise, I've got two tumblr accounts that you can follow. The first is a more humorous and personal blog, though it gets fic updates. The second is a fandom blog, which also has fic updates as well as some updates on fic writing. Alternatively you can always subscribe here or find me on twitter. Thank you for reading, kudos, commenting, anything :) They always make y day.
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